44-06-01_Fugue_In_C_Minor.txt

Roma Wines presents Suspense Roma Wines made in California for enjoyment throughout the world Salud Your health senor Roma Wines toast the world the wine for your table is Roma Wines Made in California for enjoyment throughout the world. The Roma Wine Company of Fresno, California welcomes you again to this weekly half hour of suspense. Tonight from Hollywood, Roma Wines bring you as stars Miss Ida Lefino, currently being seen in Warner Brothers' In Our Time, and Mr. Vincent Price of 20th Century Fox, soon to be seen in the derelict Zanuck production Wilson. For the appearance of these two distinguished screen personalities, Lucille Fletcher has written a Suspense play that deals with brooding anxiety and sharpening suspicion played against the severe and forbidding background of the late Victorian era. And so, with Hugh in C minor and with the performances of Ida Lupino and Vincent Price, we again hope to keep you in suspense. April 1st, 1900. Dear Bessie, this is just to let you know that I arrived in pilot still. Lizzie met me at the station. She's heartbroken about Papa's bankruptcy. And for some reason, she feels that it's up to me to remedy the family situation. I told her I'd been offered a job, but she'd swept away that idea in horror. A girl with your looks, Amanda Peabody, doesn't have to get a job. There are too many rich husbands floating around for that. Furthermore, she says she has a rich husband already picked up for me right here in Pilotsville. Don't you remember? I told you about him at Christmas time. He's a Mr. Evans, rich as Creetus, charming, cultured, a lonely widower with two dear little children. And besides that, he's. Just your type. A real intellectual. You should hear him play the pipe organ. And you know, Bessie, I've met so few interesting men lately. And all you'd have to do is lift your little finger. Mr. Evans. Oh, good evening, Mrs. Chumley. How delightful to see you here. I'd like you to meet my sister, Mr. Evans, my sister, Amanda Peabody. Delighted, I'm sure. It's a lovely party, Mr. Evans. Thank you, Miss Peabody. Have you just come to Piratesville? Yes. She's down from New York visiting me, up to the whirl of the hectic social people. Oh, indeed. Well, I'm afraid our Pilotsville society must seem a bit dull to you, Miss Peabody. Oh, no, not at all. It's charming. I've enjoyed everything so much tonight. Your beautiful house, the music. I hear you're going to play for us, Mr. Evans. Oh, a bit. Do you care for organ music, Miss Peabody? Very much. I never miss a church recital. But what a luxury it must be to have your own pipe organ right here in the house. I'm afraid I couldn't do without it. It's my hobby, you know. Bach, Buxtehude, César Franck. Don't you adore their work? Oh, Amanda's very musical. You should hear her render the burning of Rome. Yes. And the delightful thing, of course, about having a pipe organ in the house is that it's everywhere. To sit at a keyboard and hear the walls, the ceilings, the floors vibrate. You see, Miss Peabody, I've had the pipes installed all over the house. Under this floor, for example, are all the choir stops. Up in the bedroom walls are the stops for the swell manual. In the great 32-foot pedal stops, the giant diapasons are underneath this staircase. My children sleep next door to the echo chamber. So, you see, we live like angels here in a paradise of music. How thrilling. Ladies, come upstairs to the second-floor landing, won't you? And I'll show you the console. It was made for me in Vienna. April. And, Bessie, dear, to tell you the truth, I really find him fascinating. I wish you could hear him play. It sweeps you off your feet. There is such wildness to it and, at the same time, such dignity. And to hear the sound all through that marvelous house, rolling through those gorgeous rooms with their beautiful tapestries and potted palms. I could sit and listen to him all night. You have the most amazing eyes, Miss Peabody. What are you thinking about? The music. Oh, please don't stop. It's so beautiful. Well, you seem to be as mad about music as I am. Your sister says you play too. Oh, no, only a little. My appreciation of it is all inside, I'm afraid. That's plenty. If one can't play, it's better just to enjoy the music of others. I can't bear this sentimental drumming, can you? I shouldn't think you would enjoy it. The idiotic tunes people play nowadays. Give me the old stern classics. They have strength and power. Give me something with life to it, something that will flood the whole house with sound. Oh, that's marvelous. You're a very unusual girl, Miss Peabody. Quite unlike the run of girls down here at Pilotsville. Yes, in what way? Oh, it's rather hard to explain. Some more tea, Amanda. No, thank you. A muffin? No, thank you. You have an excellent cook, Mr. Evans. Please, please call me Theodore. You know, you promised. Theodore? Amanda. And your house is beautifully run, too. You must have an excellent housekeeper. Everything always looks so charming and quiet. I haven't even heard a peep out of your children. My children? Oh, yes. The children have been away at school. You have two, haven't you? Yes, Daphne and David. What sweet names. But, nearly, I don't approve of schools for young children, but you see, they were rather overwrought. After Mrs. Evans passed on. I can well understand. They were almost morbidly devoted to their mother, and then, of course, the unfortunate circumstances of her death, but I suppose your sister, Mrs. Chumley, has told you all about that. No, not very much, except your wife was killed in a street accident, wasn't she? Yes, in Philadelphia. A brewery wagon and four horses ran her down. Oh, how terrible. It's something I don't like to think about very often. Poor beautiful Margaret. Well, it's like a nightmare, Amanda, and I still can't feel reconciled, but. Well, what I was driving at was the children. They were in school when she died, and by some malicious stroke of fate, there was an epidemic of scarlet fever raging out there. The authorities wouldn't lift the quarantine and let them out for her funeral. Oh, poor little thing. Yes, it upset them dreadfully. In fact, I sometimes fear it's left a mark on them which may endure all their lives. Why, what do you mean? They suffer from delusions, delusions about her. They think that in some way she is linked, her soul is imprisoned in the. Organ pipes. How horrible. I wish I could do something about it. It's a frightful notion, but they won't let me play when they're at home. That echo chamber in particular next door to their bedroom. Yes? You know, it's nothing but an empty sealed room with a few wires. Of course, it's all because they never saw her dead. But they have a notion that she's, well, somehow hidden there. How ghastly. They really think that, do they? Children can think up such very strange things in their little minds. Can't they? Tonight, for suspense, Roma Wines are bringing you as stars Miss Ida Lupino and Mr. Vincent Price, whom you have heard in the prologue to Fugue in C Minor. Tonight's tale of suspense. Let us look in on another scene for a moment. A smart dinner party at the internationally famous Hotel de Nacional de Cuba in Havana. One of the guests, a world traveled American, sets down his wine glass and remarks that a truly fine wine always carries the unmistakable flavor of the particular vineyards from which it comes. Well, then, laughs his Cuban host, you must be homesick for California right now. For the wine you are enjoying so much is from America, from California. It is Roma wine. Yes, it's true. Our own wonderful vineyard country in California produces in Roma wines that discriminating people in other lands esteem as an imported delicacy. Yet you here at home can enjoy these distinguished Roma wines for mere pennies a glassful. You pay none of the expensive overseas shipping charges and duties. Daily with your meals or when entertaining or anytime, You can delight yourself with the wonderful flavor that comes from age old winemaking traditions perfected by modern quality controls and tests. Yes, only pennies a glassful for a treat you are certain to enjoy. For remember, Roma wines are America's largest selling wine. Roma, made in California for enjoyment throughout the world. And now it is with pleasure that we bring back to our soundstage Ida Lupino as Amanda Peabody and Vincent. Price is Theodore Evans in Fugue in C Minor. A tale well calculated to keep you in suspense. April 18th. I met the children today, Bessie, for the first time. It was a shock. Yes, strange little creature. Utterly unlike their father. The girl is about eleven and the boy eight. They were both dressed in deep mourning. Their large gray eyes seemed strained with terror. They listened and trembled at every sound. This is Miss Peabody, children. She's a very good friend of mine. Now I want you both to shake hands with her. Oh, come now, Daphne. You can at least tell Miss Peabody how old you are. Oh, no. Please don't press her. I know when I was a little girl I hated people to talk about my age. I'd much rather hear about you. Well, about school. We're not going back there, no matter what anybody says. David. That's all right. Then you didn't like school. No. And Mommy didn't like it either. She cried when we went away. Oh. But your Mama wanted you to be educated, didn't she? She wanted you to grow up and be intelligent people, didn't she? Well, didn't she, Daphne? Who are you? You may call me Aunt Amanda. I'm a friend of your papa's. Do you know where my Mama is? Your Mama? Well, your mama's in heaven, dear. No, she's not. Then where is she, dear? Please, please don't start them off, Amanda. It's too upsetting. Come along, children. Now we're going to have a little music, like old times. You remember when your mother was alive, we all used to play together. David, you with your cornet, and Daphne as the violin, and Mama at the piano. Well, Miss Peabody plays the piano, too. She's promised to play Narcissus, Mama's favorite piece. Well? Perhaps some other time, Theodore, when they don't feel so strange. I tell you, I've humored them to death. Now, come, David. There's your cornet on the mantelpiece. And Daphne? No. I insist. Look now, I'll start the melody on the organ. David, you come in with your cornet obbligato in the third measure. Daphne, you can follow me. What's that? Come along, children. What's that note? That note making that funny noise. What note? Oh, you mean that, sir? That's just a cipher. A wire must have stuck somewhere, one of the pipe valves. It's Mama. That's where Mama is. She's calling for it. Don't be silly. I'll just hit the key a few times and it'll stop. You've heard these ciphers before, haven't you, Miss Peabody? Well, I don't know much about pipe forming. It's a common technical occurrence, but very annoying, of course. What is she doing in there? Why doesn't it stop? That's where she is. She's in the pipe and she can't get out. Daphne, stop that nonsense. Oh, hush, dear. Your papa will fix it. No, he won't. He can't. She won't let him because he killed her. Daphne. Daphne, what did you say? She didn't mean it, I'm sure. The poor little thing's hysterical. We should never have tried to persuade her. Oh, man. Just because they never looked upon her face, because they never saw her lying there in the coffin. Hush. My own children believe that I am a murderer. Hush. Theodore, you're making them both fit. So I, I who loved their mother so much, who was so devoted for 12 years. Do I look like a murderer, Amanda? Do I? No. There it is again. It's Mama. It's Mama. Shh, dear. I'll take them upstairs for you, Theodore, while you try and fix it. April 24th. Oh, Bessie. Those poor little children, we took them out to the cemetery today to show them her grave. A marble angel guarded it. It was planted with pure white tulips. How final it was and peaceful. And yet they began to tremble again the moment we set foot inside the house. Poor Theodore. The man is nearly out of his mind. What can he do? I keep asking myself that question. What can he do? She died in Philadelphia, you say? Yes, on May 15th, just a little less than a year ago. You weren't with her? No, she went there to take a piano lesson. There was a new teacher she'd heard about. She was always so self-conscious about her technique. But she never reached his studio. They notified me at midnight from the city morgue. And no one in Philadelphia saw her? No one except the attendants at the morgue, of course, and the people who picked her up after the collision. It was such a brutal accident. There'd been no one from among them who could speak to the children except. Oh, no. Oh, it's so horrible, so sordid. Oh, I know, my dear. I hate to make you suffer. But if we could find some way, if they could just believe. When you brought her back here to Pilotstil, there was a funeral. Yes. And was there anybody then who saw her? Oh, no. I couldn't bear it, Amanda. I didn't think at the time she'd been so beautiful. Her lovely, sweet, gentle face and her eyes. The horses had completely trampled her. Oh, even if the children had been able to come home, I wouldn't have let them look. The coffin was sealed when I left Philadelphia. I didn't want to see her again myself. But there was a funeral. People came. There were flowers and undertakers. Yes? Well, if they could believe that, if there was one witness. Perhaps my own sister lives here. Of course there was a funeral, the finest funeral in town. A snow-white hearse and 25 coaches. Everybody sent flowers. The casket wasn't open, but I've been to lots of funerals where they don't open the casket. And from what I understand, she was pretty badly mangled. But it was a beautiful funeral. Mr. Evans played the organ himself, the finest selections, all the sweet old pieces his wife liked. There was Narcissus and Mighty Laugh Rose and Goodbye Forever. That's the way it was. So you see, David, my sister, Mrs. Chomley, was there. Yes, but how did she know it was Mama? Oh, David, she didn't see Mama, did she? Well, nobody saw your poor Mama, dear. She wouldn't have wanted anyone to see her. Mama wasn't there. She talks to us every night. She tells us to look for her. Where, dear? In the pipe. But, David, your Mama's dead. She's been dead for nearly a year. You saw her grave out in the cemetery. She's happy and at rest. Why doesn't Papa give us the key? Because he'd only let us have it we could look for. What key, dear? The keys to the pipes. There's a little door just underneath the stairs. That's where the big pipes are. And inside it's all dark. But where are the tunnels? There's a little room. The little room. That's where she's hiding. That's where Mommy is. That's where Mommy is. Oh, David, darling, now look, come here. No, I hate you. But why do you hate me? Why don't you let me help you? Because. Because what? Because you like him. Him? Papa, you're going to marry him, aren't you? Why. Yes, you are. Sabina says you are. I'm going to marry him. Then you'll send us back to school. There'll be no one left to help Mama. Poor Mama will never be left out. Oh, I hate you. I hate you. David, what are you doing here? David, did you strike Miss Peabody? He's sick, Theodore. I'm sure he's very sick. Now go to your room at once. Oh, those dreadful children. I tell you, Amanda, they'll ruin whatever happiness we might have. Theodore, I love you very much. But I couldn't marry you. Not with that child's cry ringing in my head. We've got to help them. Give them that key. Let them go and look in the room where the pipes are. Then they'll see for themselves that there's no ghost. Key? Who told you about a key to that room? The children. The children? Amanda, I'm going to tell you something. Something I've never told to a living soul. It may frighten you. Yes? Margaret was going mad when she died. Oh. No one knew it but me. It ran in her family. I discovered it long after we were married, after the children were born. Otherwise, I'd never have. And now you think the children? I'm afraid so. It was peopling of sounds she had, just like them, a fear of the dead's returning. She used to play. What's that? Sounds like the organ. But the motor isn't on. The console was locked when I left. Someone's trying to play. No one but me can touch that instrument. It's forbidden in this house, and the servants are out. Unless those children come upstairs a minute. Theodore, why there's no one here. No one at the keyboard. The organ's playing itself. That's impossible. The motor's not going. The motor? Yes, it sets the bellows going. There's no air in the pipes unless it's on. No air to make the pipes speak. It's impossible, I tell you. The children found the key and got in. The key? No, no, no. The key's here in my pocket. There's no other way. No. Theodore, open that door. Go in there and see what's happening, please. No. Theodore! I won't give in. I won't be a prey to it, do you hear? I won't, I won't, I won't! There. It's stopped now. Yes. It was probably nothing but the wind. Theodore, give me the key. I'm not afraid. Are you saying that I am? I don't know. But I'll be fair with you, Theodore. I couldn't marry you and live here with that any more than your children can. What do you mean? Rip out those pipes. Rip out the whole pipe organ. Give it to a church, but don't keep it here. Get rid of the pipe organ. Yes. But I couldn't. The whole house was built around it. It's been the very soul and spirit of this home. It's been the curse, you mean. Theodore, I know I'd go mad, too, if I had to listen to it night and day. It's so hollow. Think of those pipes, so huge, down there in the darkness. I'd begin to hear things, too. Oh, Theodore! Be quiet. Be quiet. Come outside. We'll take a walk. No. No. Give me the key. Give me the key. You're hysterical, Amanda. I'm sorry I've overburdened you. Why don't you want to go in there? Is it because you know something? You did something? What do you mean? Did you kill her? Amanda. Very well, Amanda. Here's the key. If that's the way you trust me, we'll go down and look around together. Come now, Amanda. I'm sorry, Theodore. It slipped out. It was a dreadful thing to say. All right, I understand. Yet it hurts a little. I've trusted you so completely, Amanda. Theodore. Yes, Amanda. Let's not go in there. I do trust you, darling. I believe everything you've told me. No. This little key. To think it should mean so much. Oh, how black it is. Yes, pitch black. And cold. Where are the pipes? I can't see them. Come in further, Amanda. You'll see them as soon as your eyes grow accustomed to the darkness. The biggest pipes pack this well under the great staircase like giants. Oh, yes. I'm beginning to see them now. Shouldn't we go and get a candle? No, no, no. Go in a little further. Be careful. The floor's a maze of wires. Now stand there for a second. Theodore, don't leave me. I won't be long. I thought you said you weren't afraid. So I'm not only. Where are you going? Just upstairs to play for you. Theodore? I'd like you to hear how the music sounds in the darkness. It's quite an experience being so close to the pipes. You know, narrow, suffocating, especially when I pay the great Passacolia and Fugue of Bach. Oh, Theodore, please. I don't want to stay here. Perhaps one of the Rheinberger symphonies or the great chorales of Cesar Frank. Margaret, of course, preferred Narcissus. Margaret? You're very gullible, Amanda. You did kill her. He killed her in this room. And you're going to kill me. Yes, simple, isn't it? But why? I don't know. One gets tired every now and then of mere music. Sometimes the classics demand competition. A scream, for example. There's something so exciting about pulling out all the stops and drowning out all human sound. Have you ever tried to match your voice, Miss Peabody, against the thunderous voice of Bach? It's most effective. And then when the struggle gets weaker, when the air is almost gone and you choke and gasp for breath to bring the music down softer, softer. Theodore, you're mad, you're mad. Come, Amanda. Would you deny me that pleasure? No, I promise you the competition. It takes about eight hours before the air gives out. But you know, I could play for days. And don't worry about the children. I think you've convinced them about the ghost. But that. Theodore? Someone shut the door. It's locked and the key's outside. Who's there? Let me out. Let me out. Theodore. Get away from me. Let me out, do you hear? Let me out. Let me out. I can't breathe. I'm suffocating. It's so dark. I can't breathe. Let me out. Please. Please. I can't breathe. I can't breathe. No, no, I can't. I can't let me out. I can't breathe. Theodore, Theodore, let me out. Let me out. He's dead. He's dead. David, where are you? Open the door. Help me. Help me. Oh, no. No. Help. Oh, help. May first, nineteen hundred. I shall be coming home in a few days, Bessie. I still can't sleep at night. I still hear that laughter. I still hear that cornet playing its unearthly music. And Theodore Evans once more lies dead at my feet. It was his heart, Bessie. He died of fright. In those few moments, he anticipated the hideous fate he had meted out to so many. And I might have died there if he had not gone so quickly. But the children hated me. They wanted to kill us both. terrible, pathetic children. What horrors they must have sensed in that charnel house. There were other women beside his wife. The police found them all buried and stuffed away into unused parts of the pipe organ. Yes, see, I was in that pipe room alone with him for four hours before that door creaked open. There they stood, and I shall never forget their faces or the things they said. Why, Miss Peabody? You can come out now if you're really sorry. I'm sorry. Are you sure he's quite dead? Yes, he's dead. We were right all the time, weren't we, Miss Peabody? Yes, you were right. Now, will you come and help us find Mama? And so closes Fugue in C Minor, starring Miss Ida Lupino and Vincent Price. Tonight's tale of Suspense. Suspense is produced and directed by William Spear. Of all the rich treasures man gets from the earth and Mother Nature, none has been more highly esteemed than wine, good, delicious wine. And if you are one who does not yet know how much and how delightfully Roma wines add to your meals, well, let me urge you not to miss out any longer on such a treat as this. There's nothing complicated about it. Just get and serve Roma wine with any meal or any time in any kind of glass you wish. Serve it chilled. Try the many different kinds of Roma wine until you find those you like best of all. Try Roma California Sherry with its wonderful nut-like flavor as an appetizer, or ruby red Roma Burgundy, or the deliciously delicate flavored Roma Sauterne. These superb wines cost you only pennies a glassful, and yet they make even the simplest meal taste like a million dollars. Get some today, and if your dealer is temporarily out of Roma, please try again soon. You owe it to yourself to have and regularly enjoy Roma Wine. America's largest selling wine. Made in California for enjoyment throughout the world. This is Ida Lupino. Mr. Speer has just been telling me a little about next week's suspense show. The star will be Thomas Mitchell in a story about a man who had headaches, tried everything to cure them, finally went to a psychiatrist, and found out that he was a murderer. That certainly sounds like a broadcast we listeners won't want to miss. One more word. Don't forget to buy that war bond this week. Next Thursday, same time, you will hear Thomas Mitchell and Donald Crisp in Suspense. Presented by Roma Wines, R-O-M-A. Made in California for enjoyment throughout the world. This is CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System. Thank you.